


But I Thought Butch Was A Good Thing

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bottom Dean, Episode: s02e11 Playthings, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Season/Series 02, episode coda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:45:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2556866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean’s preoccupation with what Sam meant by “well you’re kind of butch” ends up being a good thing</p>
            </blockquote>





	But I Thought Butch Was A Good Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. Written for Yonkyu’s prompt for Trick or Treat - "Sam/Dean - Coda to the episode Playthings or a reasoning behind Sam telling Dean - "We'll you're kind of butch." Sex happens, Bottom!Dean please."

So many things happened in the few days they were at that old hotel with the creepy ghost girl. So many things Dean never wants to think about again. The promise he made Sam being the first item on that list. The one he knows was broken the moment he said the words. But there was only one other way to shut his brother up at that point. And he wasn’t willing to do that. Not quite yet.

The one thing he is thinking about, pretty much constantly is Sam’s explanation for why the motel owner, Susan had assumed they only needed one bed for the night. Sam had called him butch. And he can’t figure it out, what exactly Sam meant by it. He’d sounded so teasing. But not regular Sam teasing, it was definitely different. The face he made, and the tone of voice was off somehow. It’s that tone of voice he wants to hear again, and again.

Dean’s not sure if this is the thing that will finally break him. After all this time. His worst-case scenario is asking Sam to break down what that butch comment meant and Sam either outright refusing or laughing in his face. He knows he’s not getting something that’s obvious. But it can’t be obvious. He knows he hides it well. That’s based on Dad never figuring it out. And the man would have definitely said something if he’d thought his oldest son wanted his youngest to be a whole lot more than just his brother.

After the years of tormenting himself with thoughts of what Sam would do if he ever knew the truth, is it possible that the little shit has figured it out? And if he has, and he hasn’t run away screaming into the night with his laptop packed up forever in his backpack, then what the hell does that mean? Why would he stay? Is Sam just playing at being understanding and forgiving and tolerant or some B.S. like that? Or is the unthinkable other option really a possibility?

He shakes his head at his stupid waste of hope on that last thought. The kid who ran away to find normal sure as hell is not going to ever suggest they start up something between them. Dean’s not sure he even knows exactly what that something would be, not just sex he tells himself, that’s not all this is about.  
It never has been, not even back when he was fifteen and figuring out how his body worked with no help or advice from anybody else. It’s so much more than sex, _it’s everything._

All these thoughts are running through his whisky soaked brain on an endless, pointless loop as he walks back to their room from the bar he’s been at for most of the night. He is concentrating on answering the main issue, does he wait to ask Sam about the butch comment until tomorrow when he’s sobered up, or does he go for it now when things seem a little easier to handle? Tomorrow, definitely tomorrow, just in case Sam does take off screaming. He’s nodding to himself, firm in his decision and focusing on getting in the door as quietly as possible to not wake the object of all his angst tonight. The doorknob seems stickier than usual, and he has to rattle it a little more than he wanted to, just to get in.

That’s why he’s so surprised to see what he does when he walks in the door, Sam laid out on his bed, naked, stroking his long, very hard cock at a leisurely pace. He can smell something sweet over the scent of male musk, vaguely strawberry. The glisten of lube catches his eye as he watches Sam’s large hand glide smoothly up and down, never stopping. Sam seems to be in another world, his head thrown back, hips writhing, eyes firmly closed with earbuds in and his iPod turned up so loud Dean can hear it all the way over at the door. Dean’s leaning up against that door like it’s the life raft that’s the only thing between him and certain watery death. He can’t help but watch his brother pleasure himself, he’s so beautiful like this. All unguarded carnality, and raw desire. He’s content to lean there watching like the perv he’s been for going on ten years until he hears his brother speak.

“Dean. Yeah baby, ride me just like that,” Sam groans.

Dean answers the groan, because he just can’t help himself. His hand brushes over the growing bulge pushing at the zipper of his jeans. He viciously shuts up the voice of reason in his head, the one he’s listened to for those ten hard years of denial, and unzips, taking himself in hand, he begins stroking himself in time with Sam’s hand moving up and down his long length.

Sam starts murmuring more quietly, like he’s ashamed to say the words too loud even to himself, so Dean quietly shuffles forward to hear. “Love you, Dean. Love how you let me fuck you like this. Never get enough.”

Dean drops his boots on the floor with a clatter. Sam’s hand stops and he quickly sits up, eyes wide in surprise, yanking the earbuds off. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“You said my name, Sam,” Dean says, knowing he’s throwing his life out the window with his words and his actions.

“So what if I did?” Sam asks, pulling the blanket over his lap to try and cover himself. But it’s ridiculous, it falls off the lubed tip of his still very hard cock, folding back on his inner thigh.

“So, I heard what you said, Sammy,” Dean says, beginning to stroke himself again, eyes never leaving Sam’s. “And I liked what I heard.”

Sam’s mouth opens and closes with a loud snap that makes Dean wince. It seems like Sam’s eaten his words of protest. The ones that they both know he should be saying. Instead Sam says, “Well, then come over here and I’ll say them again.” His hand finds its way to his cock to begin the slick slide.

Dean’s answer is to step out of his jeans and boxers, slide his shirts off over his head and close the distance between them. He stands above his brother matching in his nakedness. They stare at each other in rising wonder and amazement, their silent communication working at better than 100%. Sam’s hand is on his cock before he even notices it moving from his own. Dean gasps at the feeling of Sam’s hand gripping him so perfectly.

Without even a word passing between them, Dean reaches out to grab the tube of lube and applies some to his fingers. He leans forward just enough to be able to reach around himself and insert one to begin with. Sam’s hand continues to stroke him as Dean fingers himself open, the smell of strawberry lube hovers between them. Dean pulls his fingers out and pushes Sam in the middle of the chest until he gets the idea and lays back down on the bed.

Dean stands there for a moment, not hesitating he tells himself, savoring, storing all of the details of this away: how it smells, he’ll never forget the damn strawberry lube; how Sam looks so much more beautiful to him when he’s surrendered like this; what their breathing sounds like, the absence of any words; the strong hand on his cock that is the one he’d always wanted to feel. The only thing left that he needs to complete the sense memory is taste.

He climbs onto the bed, straddling his brother, their hard cocks brushing against each other. With one hand on either side of Sam’s head, Dean lowers himself until their lips are aligned. He brushes them together slightly, pulling back to lick at his own, pausing, but Sam surges up, claiming his lips in a forceful kiss, tongue sweeping past Dean’s lips and exploring greedily. The taste of Sam invades and takes over, replacing every taste he’s ever cared to remember. previously.

The taste of his brother this first time will never be forgotten. They kiss slow and deep and strong until that’s enough for both of them. Breathing heavily, Dean sits up and takes Sam’s cock in hand holding it steady, he lowers himself down until he’s taken Sam completely into his own body. This is where he’s always wanted Sam to be, safe on the inside.

“I’ve got you now,” Dean says, heedless of what that reveals. The possessiveness of ‘I’ve got you’ and the obvious premeditation of ‘now.’  
He feels himself adjust to Sam’s intrusion, it’s overwhelming how filled and complete he finally feels. No one else has ever fit, has ever come close to filling him like this. Like he’s always wanted, and needed.

“Finally,” Sam says on a gush of relieved breath.

Dean reaches down and strokes the side of his cheek, holding his hand against the side Sam’s face. “Hey, I take this butch thing very seriously.”

Sam explodes with laughter, grabbing onto Dean’s hips to hold him close. The vibrations from his laughter pound and flow into Dean until he can barely stand it. He raises himself up and slams back down on Sam to shut him up. And it works, instantly. Dean tightens his channel around Sam, holding him closer than close. “I said I’m taking this seriously.”

Sam searches Dean’s face, looking anxious for a moment. “I am too.”

Dean rolls his eyes and starts fucking himself even more open on Sam’s cock. A slow grinding swivel of his hips when Sam’s deep on the inside, then a raising up and almost off the tip of Sam’s cock, with a quick descent back down. His senses soon feel overwhelmed with the Sam inside and around him, hands holding him tight, smoothing over his back, kneading at his ass. The taste of Sam still lingering on his lips, he licks at them to re-taste what Sam left behind.  
“Kiss me again,” Sam says, watching Dean’s tongue moving across his lips.

Dean leans forward and pecks at his lips, drawing away, but Sam stops him,with strong hands at his back, pulling him back up so that their lips really meet. The feeling of kissing Sam while being fucked by Sam is too much, so much that Dean lets himself go. He stops holding back and just moves in the rhythm that feels the best. He soaks up the sounds that Sam makes through the connection of their mouths. He drinks down every gasp and groan and sigh because this is the only time he’ll ever get this. The only time has to last.

He knows it’s not a first time, which implies there’s a second and third and more coming at some point. No, it’s just a one-off, never to be repeated, miraculous in its singularity. It’s got to be, right?

At some point Sam has begun thrusting up into him, and that extra friction is getting Dean closer to the edge. He doesn’t want it to be over quite yet though. Especially since it’s just this one time. He concentrates on soaking up all of this stimulation, tucking away how it makes him feel, the focus Sam seems to be putting on making this feel as good as possible.

Sam speeds up his thrusts, and Dean matches his tempo, screwing himself down harder until Sam’s hitting someplace deep inside that feels completely different. He feels lit up inside, sparking with overwhelming sensation. Dean knows he’s close, so he lets himself go then, hips bucking wildly, hands clenching at Sam’s shoulders. He meets Sam’s eyes at his last coherent moment and sees that Sam’s as lost in desire as he is.

He leans down to recapture Sam’s lips in a kiss, wanting them to be as connected as possible when he finally tips over the edge. Dean tongue fucks his brother’s mouth in time with Sam’s thrusts. The sounds Sam makes are a delicious taste that he can savor later. His last conscious thought for awhile is that if it had to just be once, this was a hell of a one time.

After they’ve come down, and come back to themselves, Dean’s heart sinks into his stomach. This is when he knows Sam will let him down easily, with some sort of brush-off, making it into something casual, when casual is the least thing he feels about it all. Mostly because Sam’s giant cock still feels so huge inside him. Dean begins squirming around, beginning to get self-conscious at how he’s spread out over his brother, sprawled and boneless from the pleasure.

“Hey, where are you going?” Sam asks, sounding annoyed and sad at the same time.

“Thought you’d want to actually get some sleep tonight after we clean up,” Dean says, ducking into the bathroom and running the sink water to get it warm enough to wash up with. He’s leaned against the chipped porcelain counter, staring into the mirror trying not to think, when he feels Sam press himself against his back, still hard, wet cock nestling back between his ass.

“You’re not getting away this quickly,” Sam purrs into his ear.

Dean shivers at the thought and because Sam’s hair is tickling him. “What? You want a round two huh?”

Sam’s arms encircle him, giant hand covering his tattoo completely, and he just stands there, holding Dean, looking at him in the mirror. Dean can see every emotion on Sam’s face, and it’s transformed him into someone far more beautiful than he’d ever considered his brother could be. He flicks his eyes to see himself and is startled to see that he’s let all his emotions show. Dean tries to stuff it all back inside before Sam can see. But it’s too late.

Sam’s eyes go liquid somehow, his lips turning down in a disappointed frown. His eyebrows draw up into annoyance. “Really? After all that, you still don’t get it?”

“What?” Dean asks in complete confusion. After all what? The best sex of his life? Or is he missing something again, like the butch comment.

Sam’s hand tightens over his tattoo, like it’s trying to dig through deep into his chest to his heart. “Dean, this is what I want. Not just sex.”

The words seem to echo around the small tiled bathroom, coming back to Dean’s unbelieving ears which still aren’t ready to hear them. He searches Sam’s face in his reflection, trying to put it together, the unfamiliar emotions he sees on his brother’s face, the hand over his heart that feels like it’s always been there.

“Not just sex?” Dean asks, feeling stupid for just repeating Sam’s words, but he can’t think his way past them.

“No Dean, everything,” Sam says, patting him on the chest once more and then letting him go.

Dean goes cold all over the moment Sam steps away from him. And it’s not just the absence of his brother’s heat, it’s the loss of his face reflected in the mirror to try and get some clues to figure him out. He feels so out of his depth here, out on a swiftly disappearing sandbar, far from any familiar shore. He mechanically washes himself with a rough washcloth, and rinses it out warm again to bring to Sam.

Sam’s back in his bed, the bed where they’d just finished fucking or whatever you want to call it. He knows what he wants to call it, but he won’t even say it to himself. Sam’s back is turned to the bathroom. Dean flips off the light and then stands there for a long moment, conflicted on whether he’s supposed to just hand Sam the wet washcloth on the way to climbing into his own cold, unused bed, or some other alternative. He knows he wants to slip back into his brother’s bed and hold him until they fall asleep. Sam had just said ‘not just sex’, but that could mean a lot of things.

A loud sigh reaches his ears, Sam turns over onto his back, his eyes glittering in the darkness. He flips the covers back in invitation. When Dean doesn’t move, still frozen in the bathroom doorway holding the quickly cooling washcloth, Sam pats the bed a couple times. Dean can hear him chuckle under his breath. That gets his big brother ire lit up, so Dean finally moves, climbing into bed and throwing the washcloth so it lands with a smack in the middle of the wide expanse of Sam’s muscled chest.

Sam squawks in surprise and grabs the washcloth off, cleaning himself and throwing it towards the bathroom. He surrounds Dean with so many arms and legs Dean feels like he’s outnumbered. Sam nuzzles into the top of Dean’s head, brushing the soft spikes back and forth with his nose.

“Dude, are you smelling me?” Dean asks with a chuckle.

“So what if I am?” Sam asks. “I just want to remember everything about this.”

Dean smiles to himself, realizing his brother is doing the same thing he was, cataloging all the memories by senses to store the most complete memory, just the way Dad taught them to. “Well okay then.”

“Dean, you got what I meant right? About this being more than sex to me?” Sam asks with that earnest, yet ready to be wounded tone that Dean’s always hated.

“Yeah, Sammy, I got it. You want everything,” Dean says, knowing that he’s still not believing it’s really true, that his brother wants the same thing as he does.

“You don’t have anything to say about it? I thought you’d be running away screaming or something,” Sam says softly, like the words had a hard time actually getting out to be heard.

“I heard you. This is just me bein’ butch,” Dean says, finally realizing what Sam’s comment meant the other day.

Sam’s arms tighten around him, and he feels his brother’s body convulse as Sam shakes with silent laughter. Dean’s last thought before falling asleep is that he can’t possibly be this lucky to get everything he ever wanted.

And he has his answer when he wakes up the next morning to Sam’s mouth searching his out in a kiss. He really does have it all. Everything, that is. Next job is to figure out what Sam meant by overcompensating.

~FIN~


End file.
